The Mage's Heir
by jae-haha
Summary: Simon Snow has just discovered that he is a magician. And not just any ordinary magician, but the Mage's Heir, prophesied to be the only person capable to defeat the threat that is known as the Insidious Humdrum, bane of all magick. Of course, he'll have to survive his first year at Watford Academy first, from rude roommates, to dangerous quests, Simon Snow has a lot of work to do.
1. one

**a/n one: hello everyone, welcome to chapter one of the mage's heir! i will talk more afterwards, because i think you would rather read the story, yes? **

**these characters belong to rainbow rowell, sans matron hopewell, and aiden, who are, my own.**

**edit: oops! i wrote simon as a blonde sorry, very sorry! (edited: 1/4/15)**

**edit 2: ahaha, all these guests make me nervous! so simon has golden hair? english is confusing lol! (edited 5/4/15) **

**the mage's heir: one**

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Simon was too hot. The wind blew through his room in the orphanage, where the window never quite closed, and melted his bones. It tore through his grotty cotton sweater, and nipped at the frayed hems of his denims. "Overheated, and in jeans," Simon mumbled to himself. "This is how I die." Scampering from his small desk in the corner of the room, he dove underneath the covers on his bed, pulling them around him like a cape. It was a rather foolish decision, if he had wanted to ward off the heat, rather than draw it in, but the current of air from the moving quilts gave off a nice breeze.

From the other side of their shared room, Aiden, Simon's roommate rolled his eyes, turning another page in the English textbook. "God, Simon. It isn't that warm."

Simon balked at the boy, throwing his quilts haphazardly onto the mattress, pointing out the window. "Isn't that warm?" He asked, blue eyes wide with disbelief. "Christ, Aiden, it's like a heat stroke, for God's sake!" It was as if the older boy couldn't feel the bone-melting heat that curled around the room, squeezing Simon in it's grasp. Aiden snorted, waving the ten-year old off again, returning to his textbook.

Simon didn't quite blame him, actually. He would probably ignore himself as well, if he had a teacher like Professor Amelia Rainsworth giving an English test. She was notorious amongst the students of Hyde's State School.

But the little brunet ten-year-old sighed, and flopped, boneless, back onto the covers, staring at the large cracks in the ceiling. Sometimes, he wondered if the roof would fall in and crush Aiden and him while they were sleeping. Simon shuddered. _What an unpleasant thought,_ he mused, counting the cracks again.

He must have fallen asleep like that, spread across his quilts and sheets, because before he knew it, Aiden was shaking him awake. "It's time for dinner, Simon," he whispered, and Simon felt like he had an older brother. "Come on Simon, or Matron Hopewell will wonder where we've been."

The motherly matron of Gardenia Orphanage was quite large, width-wise, but she was one of the nicest people Simon had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She had raised him since he was a child, and Simon could not remember a life before the Orphanage, with its cracked ceilings, and windows that would never fully close.

Galloping down the steps of the rickety old staircase that led to the attic room he shared with Aiden, Simon stopped in front of the Matron, and wondered why she was waiting by the stairs, and not in the cafeteria with the other children. "Simon," the elderly woman began, her tone reproachful, and Simon blurted,

"Matron Hopewell, I swear, it wasn't me this time! I've been with Aiden all day, and I didn't put frogs in Marie's closet!" Simon had a knack for getting into trouble, but today, he couldn't figure out why the Matron would be reprimanding him.

The matron laughed, her wrinkled face smiling at the ten-year-old. "No, Simon, you aren't in trouble dear. Someone has just come to see you."

Aiden crept past Simon, and mouthed, _'who?'_

Simon shrugged, and looked at the matron. "Who is it?"

Her smile dropped a tad. "Come with me Simon. Aiden, off you go, eat dinner with the other children." And she whisked Simon away from Aiden, and down towards the parlour.

Simon entered the parlor, and there sat a man, with hair so blond, it might have been white. Grey streaks wove within the white-gold locks that the older man sported, and his brown eyes were tired. To Simon, he looked ancient, yet powerful, sitting tall in that tall-backed, cushy lavender chair Sophia liked to read in on a rainy day.

There was also a cape, draped atop his broad shoulders, black with large silver buttons, and spilling onto the floors. Simon drank the strange man in, and his appearance like a breath of fresh air, within the familiar and bland appearances of his peers.

"Come, Simon, sit down, sit down." The man gestured to the squashy chair across the coffee table that separates them, and Simon sat down, wondering how this odd, odd man knew his name.

The matron coughed rather awkwardly, and asked, "Sir, would you like anything?"

The blond man nodded, replying, _"Tea and biscuits, if you please,"_ with a wave of his hand.

Before Matron Hopewell could even make to leave the parlour room, the wooden serving tray that she would bring out for visitors bobbed through the door, the chipped porcelain kettle steaming from the spout, along with a plate of chocolate biscuits. The matron gaped, and Simon smiled with glee, his stomach grumbling quietly in the background. "Thank you, Ma'am," the man smiled kindly, watching as the robust woman left to check for the other children. "And you," the man continued, turning to Simon, after the matron had left. "You have proven very hard to search for, do you know that?"

Simon stared at the man, his face tinted pink. "I'm very sorry for that, Sir," he replied softly, wiggling his toes into the carpeting.

The man laughed. "Don't you worry about that, Simon. The Mage's Heir is someone people search for." He gestured towards the tea and biscuits. "Have a biscuit."

Simon took a chocolate biscuit, nibbling on the soft edges."Why are you here, Sir?"

"To take you to school, of course."

He stopped biting the treat, and stared at the man. "To school? Why?"

The man took a good look at Simon, and he could feel the brown eyes sizing him up, trying to measure him. "Well, not just any old school, I suppose," he mused. "I'm here to take you to Watford Academy for Magick." Brown eyes stared into Simon's watery blue. "I am the Mage, Simon, and you are my heir."

Simon's heart stopped for a moment. Half of him wanted to laugh at this so-called Mage, and call him a liar. But the other half of him remembered what the man had done with the wooden tray, and the tea with biscuits. How it had floated and bobbed through the air, before resting gracefully onto the coffee table between them. "This...is not a trick, right?" Simon asked warily, eyeing the Mage.

The Mage laughed lightly, and Simon felt irritated at how this man laughed at him. "Yes, I could see why you would think this would be a trick, I suppose. Allow me to demonstrate." From within the black cloak drawn across him, the Mage procured an elaborately carved stick, or a wand. Simon realized this with a jolt, and excitement began to build inside of him. _"Up, up and away,"_ the Mage murmured, and the little ten-year old felt himself float up from his seat, and into the air. "_Settle down,_ Simon," the older man laughed, as Simon fell back into his chair, caramel brown hair mussed and plastered across his forehead.

"That was amazing!" He bubbled, bouncing in the squashy chair.

"Yes, well, you'll learn many things like that as well within your years at Watford," the man smiled knowingly, and another jolt of excitement ran through Simon's veins. The previous irritation had dissipated after the impromptu flight session he had gone through. "Well then," the Mage began to rise, and Simon hurried to rise with the white-blond man. "Please allow me to notify Matron Hopewell of your leaving, and you must pack you bags, Simon."

Simon's heart jumped to his throat in a second, nervous butterflies flittering around in his stomach. "Will I be able to come back here again?"

The Mage looked at Simon with a bit of surprise. "Well yes, you will return for summer holidays, and you will have the option of coming back for other holidays, but I don't particularly see why you would want to return, Simon."

Simon fidgeted with the hem of his pullover, pulling at a loose thread. "I grew up here, Sir. It's rather hard for me to leave my home behind..."

The Mage clapped Simon on the back and smiled gently. "That's alright Simon. But, I guarantee, Watford will be like a home to you, I promise." The man cleared his throat. "Now. Off you go, go pack your bags, and I will speak with your matron."

Simon ran into the corridor, and up the rickety old staircase, to his room with Aiden.

* * *

Aiden was already in the room when Simon burst in, slightly out of breath, cheeks pink from running up all those stairs.

"I told you, running up the staircase isn't a good idea Simon," the older boy frowned, swiveling around in his chair to face the younger boy. "And anyways, what did Matron Hopewell need you for in the parlour? Are you in trouble, Simon?"

Simon shook his head, and ducked underneath his bed to retrieve his school bag, and a ratty old duffel bag that Milly, a girl who had long-since been adopted had left with him. He began to toss jerseys, shirts, trousers, and pants into the duffel, and Aiden watched as the younger boy zipped up the duffel with little trouble, and took out the summer homework out of the backpack, setting it on his bed. The pencil case still inside the worn knapsack rattled as Simon shoved his old teddy bear into the bag, and shouldered it, finally facing Aiden. "Aiden, that man was from a school."

The brunet teen nodded, and rose from the wooden chair, hugging Simon. "Try and write then, alright, Snow?"

Simon nodded solemnly, wrapping his arms as far as they could reach around Aiden, burying his face into the brotherly boy's thin tee-shirt. "I'll try to come back for the hols, Aiden, I promise."

Said boy rested his chin atop Simon's head of golden curls. "Have fun, Simon."

Simon rapidly blinked away a few tears, then barreled out of the room, and back down the stairs, his bookbag pounding against his back.

Aiden shook his head, looking at the spot where Simon had been. "That bloody kid, I told him not to run down the stairs."

* * *

Matron Hopewell hugged Simon to her bosom, and the blond boy swore that he could breathe whilst she did, but hugged his caregiver back, crying slightly as he left her behind, at Gardenia Orphanage.

He gripped the Mage's hand tight, as the man whispered a few words, and waved his wand, before the world flipped upside down, and everything went black.

And when Simon came to, the world was no longer all the shades of London in the summertime, gray and muted green, muddy blue, and brown. The world was colored brighter than Simon could ever remember seeing it, with clear blue waters and golden sunlit reflections, brilliant greens, and pure white. The courtyard of Watford Academy in summer was gorgeous, and Simon gaped as he took it all in, with its cobbled walkways, and wooden benches with engraved plaques.

Beside him, the Mage laughed, and led Simon down the cobbled pathway, and to a building larger than Simon had ever seen, except for perhaps Buckingham Palace, the residence of royalty.

It was a castle of marble and stone, with high towers, and large glass windows, basking in the rays of sunshine. It glittered and glinted unlike anything Simon had ever seen, even the Palace, and he was certain that the Mage himself knew that. He smiled at Simon, and led the small boy through the hallways crowded with students of Watford, some dressed in what the boy could only assume were the school uniforms, and others wearing street clothing like football jerseys and denim trousers like himself. Some girls wore dresses, but none, Simon noticed, had a teacher with them.

"Sir," Simon asked, looking up at the Mage, "are there any other students like me?"

"Whatever do you mean by, like me, Simon?" The Mage asked back, looking kindly at Simon.

Simon fidgeted nervously with the red rubber ball that he had tucked away in his trouser pocket as they walked the corridors, and some students began to whisper. "Students that come from normal, non-magic families?"

The Mage smiled sadly at the boy, and squeezed his hand. Simon felt dread run through him, and his throat dried. "I'm afraid not, Simon. There has never been the case of a magician coming from a non-magic lineage. Magic is too precious to loose. Now come," the Mage continued, leading Simon along. "It's off to the Welcome Feast in the caf, and then to the Crucible room to get your roommate."

Simon nodded numbly, and allowed himself to be dragged along. He was, after all, rather hungry.

* * *

**a/n two: sorry that wasn't very long, huh? chapter two will be longer, and of course, we will soon meet baz and penelope! **

**so, hi there! i'm ****jae-ha, but you could call me jae, i suppose. this is my first fan fiction, and i really wanted to write about simon, and his years at watford! i think this might have been done a lot before, but i plan to see this through, and finish it-up until the eighth dance. of course, it will probably deviate from what is "fangirl canon" for the gemma t. leslie books, because i want to include snow/baz if i can! **

**english is not my first language, so excuse any mistakes! **

**see you all next chapter, and please review/follow/favorite!**

**love, jae-ha **


	2. two

**a/n one: hello! i am back once more with another chapter! i am so sorry that it isn't as long as the first, but unfortunately, this chapter was short because it had to be-that and it refused to be any longer, alas. the next chapter will be much longer as the first years will be taken into town, to get their supplies. also: next chapter we will meet baz! oh hohoho. but, enough of me rambling. i have a head canon to explain at the bottom, and you have a chapter to read. hehe!**

* * *

**the mage's heir: two **

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The Welcome Feast was enormous, and there were so many students, seated around tables, laughing and joking around with ease. Simon's heart leapt a little, and thudded loudly in his chest. Dinners at the orphanage had never quite had that large of a sense of family, or belonging, despite the fact that Simon had grown up there. At the orphanage, there was only a sense of alliance, rather than a family of orphans/misfits. In Hyde's State, you looked out for people like yourself, and kept your head down. It had been rough like that. Rubbing the gritty plaster that stuck atop the ugly green-yellow bruise on his left cheek, Simon stared out at the cafeteria where the Welcome Feast was held. Watford's wasn't a place where you had to keep your head down, but rather you could hold it high, and not gain a black eye for doing so. The blond realized this with a painful thud, and he looked up at the Mage tentatively.

"Go on then," the magician urged, slipping his calloused hand from Simon's grip, pushing the boy forward gently. "Go find a table Simon. Go make some new friends." He gave Simon one last gentle smile, and swept away to the staff table stationed towards the front of the dining hall. The nervous boy watched as the Mage left, then took another long look around the hall. There, he thought, in the corner. There was a small table in the corner of the hall, half-empty, and secluded. It seemed perfect to Simon, who was still thinking as if he was in Hyde's State, trying to hide from boys that were three times his size.

"Can I sit here?" He asked, gesturing to an empty seat. Six sets of eyes slid onto Simon, and one of the boys fell off of his chair.

"Bloody hell!" He exclaimed, panting. "We didn't quite see you there, mate. Take a seat."

Simon slid into a seat. "Thank you," he said, staring around the hall.

The elder boy smiled roguishly. "It isn't a problem. I'm William Totter, eighth year. You are?"

The golden haired boy smiled tentatively back. "I'm Simon. Simon Snow."

There was a resonant gasp that rippled through the few people sitting at the table. "The Mage's Heir?"

"That's not possible!"

"I thought that was just a myth!"

"Well obviously not, fucktard."

"Marlene! Language!"

William smiled over at the confused ten-year old, and clasped his shoulder. "Sorry about them, they're rather confused. It really isn't everyday that you meet the Mage's Heir."

Simon laughed nervously, mussing his hair. "What is, the Mage's Heir anyways?" The ten-year old tried to keep his growing irritation, about the murmuring students at the corner table show through his tone. William's brow furrowed, and Simon supposed that it must have shown through, or William was rather perceptive.

The red-head smiled gently, and clasped his hands underneath his chin. "The Mage's Heir is, as the prophecies say, the greatest magician of our time. He is the only person capable of defeating the Insidious Humdrum, and wielding the weapon known as the _Sword of Mages_."

Simon thinks how cool it must be to wield a sword. It must be pretty cool, right?

William gestures to the table, which has various dishes piled onto it. "Well, you must be famished. Watford does make the best food, so dig in."

He scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto Simon's plate, then turns back to his own. Thanking William quietly, Simon nicks a few sandwiches from the platter underneath a thickset boy with the squarest chin he's ever seen.

After eating a sandwich and some of the potatoes, Simon can agree with William. Watford does have some of the best food Simon has ever tasted. It's better than lumpy porridge and split pea soup, if anything.

There's a large commotion up in the front of the hall, and if Simon stood atop his chair-which a mousy girl named Talia was advising him against-he can just barely make out the Mage, shooting sparks from his wand, trying to call everyone's attention. "Yes, yes!" The Mage laughed wryly, as the hall finally elapsed into silence. "Well, I welcome all of our students, both old, and new to another year at Watford Academy of Magick!" The platinum blond man allows the hall to burst into cheers and noise once more, before shooting sparks from his wand with a spell Simon cannot hear from the corner table. "Yes, but there is one more anouncement." The Mage clears his throat. "This year, amongst us, we have our prophesied Mage's Heir. Simon, if you would please, my boy?" The entire hall bursts into whispers that do not sound like whispers, but feel like screams. The entire population seated at the corner table with Simon turns and faces the boy with the golden mane.

He can feel his ears flushing red, and the apples of his cheeks burning as well. Stepping down from the wooden chair, Simon ducks and weaves throughout the caf, emerging beside the Mage. The man rests a large, warm hand on Simon's sloping shoulder. "I welcome you, Simon Snow."

The whispers become screams, and half of Simon wants to hide, but the other half wins out, and he keeps his ocean blue gaze straight ahead, staring at everything and nothing at once.

"It can't be!"

"That scrawny kid is the Mage's Heir?"

"Yeah right. He'll be killed in seconds."

"As if the Sword of Mages would accept a weakling like that."

Simon turns red again, and looks away from the hall, his gaze darting uneasily. It catches on thin, slanted, almond-shaped gray eyes, with eyebrows that look they were drawn on their owner's face. The boy-he looks like he must be Simon's age-smirks, and nods slightly.

Ocean blue dart away again, and Simon searches the Mage's face for an answer to a question he doesn't quite know yet.

The Mage's smile is apologetic, and he clasps Simon's shoulder tighter. Simon feels a little more at ease, and the anger bubbling just beneath the surface begins to calm.

"Quiet down!" The Headmaster bellows the spell, and the entire hall falls silent. "Speak now." The white-blond haired man mutters the counterspell, and the entire hall stays silent still, no one willing to test the Mage again. "Now, then. 8th Year prefects, if you would?" Four students stand up from their seats in the caf, and Simon can catch the glint of silver badges pinned to clothing, or in one prefect's case, in her mousy brown hair, holding it back. The ten year old feels like laughing at this, and he hides his giggles behind a small hand. "First Years, please, do follow these lovely young ladies and men that have gathered at the entrance to the cafeteria. They will lead you to the Crucible, which will tell you your room. As for the rest of you," the Mage had shooed Simon off to gather with the rest of the First Years, many which were staring at Simon with wide eyes. "As for the rest of our lovely students, please begin to make your way off to your rooms. Tomorrow may be an off day, but please do not retire too late! Dorm mothers and fathers will be checking to see if anyone is out past curfew, and detention will be handed out if you are caught!" The Mage winked to the crowd of students. "If you are to sneak out, take great pains not to get caught, hm?"

There was an exasperated call from the Professor's Table, from a tall professor with jade green eyes, and bright red hair. "Headmaster! Do not encourage this!"

The Mage laughed gaily. "Ah, Professor Almstedt, a little mischief does no harm to anyone."

Professor Almstedt sighed, and ran a dark hand through his long hair. "It does harm if the students think that their own Headmaster is encouraging such behaviour."

Turning back to the students, the Mage continued, "As such, please do not sneak out past curfew in the first place. Now," he clapped his hands. "Off all of you go. We will see each other once more in the morning."

The prefect at the front of the horde of First Years clapped her hands as well. "Now, First Years, if you would please follow us." She began to lead them down the numerous halls of Watford, until she pushed open a gilded door, to reveal a maroon and golden book upon a modest wooden pedestal in the center of the room. "We will call out your names in alphabetical order. Do not share your room number with anyone else until the next day, please," she cleared her throat. "Aalto, Damien."

The names flew over Simon's head like birds, until he heard his name called, followed by the whispers, which were become sadly familiar. Head bowed, and hands stuck in his denim's pockets, Simon trudged up to the pedestal, and looked down at the cracked and yellowed pages of the Crucible.

_Snow, Simon _

_Laurel Dorm, Room 84_

Chanting the words over and over in his mind, Simon left the way he came, and followed the signs into the Laurel Dorm. Greeting the dorm mother, a portly woman with graying jet-black hair, and sparkling hazel eyes, Simon flew up the spiral staircase, so much like the one back at the orphanage.

He was not happy with the sight he saw upon entering the hallway with room 84.

* * *

**a/n two: ahh i hate that it is so short, and i am sorry that it is! an oc i have introduced within this chapter that will appear many times is professor lucas almstedt. he's a rude, sarcastic person/the english professor, and a dueling champion. i like him, hehe! **

**ah, anyways. i have a head canon on the main four's ethnic origins, so please hear me out! **

**simon: norwegian, from the mage (because it is obvious that they are father/son as levi says), with some french and russian from his mother. (i thought of strong jawlines, blond and brown hair, as well as pretty blue eyes) i think if you mixed the mage's platinum hair, and as i see simon's mom with a sort of dirty blonde hair that is more of a caramel than actual blonde, you would get simon's gold mane. (ahaha sounds like a lion hehe) i call simon's mother's ami (ami means saturday's child in french)in my head, and i also have no idea about the mage's actual hair, but i also thought of a punnet square, and how if any of them had any color darker than a light brown, simon wouldn't have his golden hair, so hm. **

**baz: i feel that baz would have some asian blood within him. not because of his brain ahaha, because that would be racist-but i am korean haha-but because of how his looks are described, he always looks distinctly asian in my mind. so his father would be a korean/chinese mix, whereas his mother would be dutch/english. her eyes would be a smokey gray, that when mixed with his father's dark brown eyes would be a dark, charcoal-like gray. i called his parents tai yang (sun in chinese) and elise (promise of god in dutch) as for baz, i feel like pitch would be a translation of his last name, which would be li, which means dark in chinese, hence pitch. also, as every child in asia that comes to america has an asian name and an american name, i think that hui would be baz's chinese name (his father grew up in china, or singapore to be specific) hui means intelligent. so baz's full name would be ****tyrannus hui basilton li/pitchner. lol what a mouthful! **

**penelope: straight up scottish and irish. her father is an irish man with the thickest, reddest beard ever, and it's very very curly! he has no freckles, but his eyes are a clear blue, and his skin is dark from sun. his name is casey, meaning alert in irish. her mother is gorgeous, with straight auburn hair that she keeps braided, and dark freckles like stars across her pale skin. penelope looks most like her mother, with her freckles, dark red hair, but she inherited her father's curly, ****untamable mane. penelope's mother's name is bree, which is also irish, as her mother is a scottish/irish mix, and bree means higher power. (penelope's mother basically runs the house. casey is a rather laid-back man, who works his best, but bree wears the pants haha) the ring she uses for was from her mother-penelope has three brothers, two older (17 and a prefect, as well as 14) and a younger brother, who will start at Watford in three years-but the ring is only passed onto the female magicians of the family. **

**agatha: whoooo mama. agatha is a fine lady hm? it's hard to believe that she isn't conceited, but i think she's a little conceited, lol. but NO AGATHA BASHING hm. welbelove isn't really a name that fits into any ethnicity. but with her looks, i think that a purebred french ancestry. her mother's name is alice, her father's anton. i don't have much to say about agatha, really.**

**as for the dorm: laurel is a tree that symbolizes ambition, success, and renown. i thought that it fit baz and simon's personalities pretty well. **

**well, that was long! and i would also like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, as well as told me what is off! please continue to critique my works and my english, because it isn't my first language. **

**please drop a review, follow/favorite, and continue to read! i will see you next update! **

**much love, jae-ha **


	3. three

**author's notice: late, damn it! i had to take something called the state exams...which are a little like final exams in usa, right? so this chapter is late...and i still didn't get to the shopping. how to write shopping with boys...? help me someone. apologies for any mistakes this has! enjoy! **

**disclaimer: some of the text at the beginning of this chapter is taken from rainbow rowell's book. i do not own it! i own william though! **

* * *

**three**

There was a boy in Simon's room.

A boy with slick, black hair, and cold, grey eyes. He was spinning around, holding a cat high in the air while a girl jumped and clutched at it. "Give it back," the girl said. "You'll hurt him."

The boy laughed and held the cat higher-then noticed Simon standing in the doorway and stopped, his face sharpening.

"Hullo," the dark-haired boy said, letting the cat drop to the floor. It landed on all fours and ran from the room. The girl ran after it, chestnut braids bouncing behind her.

The boy ignored them, tugging his school jacket neatly into place and smiling with the left side of his mouth. "I know you. You're Simon Snow...the Mage's Heir." He held out his hand smugly. "I'm Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. But you can call me Baz-we're going to be roommates."

Simon scowled, his golden eyebrows knitting together, and ignored the boy's pale hand. "What did you think you were doing with her cat?"

Baz raised a thin eyebrow, crossing his arms over his sweatered chest. Simon honestly had no idea how he managed so much clothing in the summer weather-he was still slightly warm, even in his thin jersey and trousers. "Well that isn't very polite," he quipped. He sounded like an aristocrat, and Simon disliked him immediately.

"I don't see why I should be polite to you. You were obviously bullying that girl," he shot back, swerving around Baz, perching on the edge of the twin bed closest to the balcony doors. "I don't like bullies," Simon declared.

The grey-eyed boy strutted-strutted!-over to the ratty bags that were Simon's, and nudged them with a toe. "I don't quite understand how a scrawny, dirty boy like you could possibly be the Mage's Heir. Have you _ever_ casted a spell before?"

Simon felt inferior underneath the lean, lanky boy's gaze, and instantly, Simon hated it. He hated the way that Baz looked at him with disgust and disdain. He hated Baz, in a way as well. So he scoffed, and tossed his head to the side, and felt like a bloody girl while doing so, "Well, you don't seem like all that much yourself, _Basil_." He spit the name out like it was poison, and slid off the bed to retrieve his ratty, downtrodden bags.

The dark-haired boy scowled disdainfully, and swept out of the room. Simon scowled as well, and bent down in front of the chest of drawers, shoving his worn clothing into the cedar drawers. What a rotten roommate. Simon swore that he would kill himself if he had to put up with Tyrannus Basilton Pitch for the rest of his years at Watford. "What an utter _arse_," Simon swore. "Tyrannus _freaking_ Basilton Pitch. What an utter arse." He didn't quite like cursing, but as he grew more and more frustrated with his new roommate, the words slid off of Simon's tongue like butter.

Simon fell back onto the bed, and black crept into his vision. Sleep was a tempting mistress that very few under the age of 14 could ignore. Especially not a drained ten year old.

* * *

Baz was a rude person, Simon realized, standing in the small kitchenette of their shared dorm, and the explosion that was there. A pampered one, though, Simon thought wryly, laughing as he looked at the poor, mangled toaster, then back at the charred toast in front of the other boy.

"Do you even know how to make toast?" The golden-haired boy laughed, covering his mouth with his hands.

Baz looked mortified, and frantically wiped at his face, only succeeding in smearing the soot and ash further around his mouth.

Simon took a peek at Baz's blackened face again, before throwing his towel over his shoulder, and dashing out towards the showers. He could have sworn that he heard Baz howling angrily (and quite shrilly) back within the dorms, but Simon's own laughter was too loud for him to hear properly.

It was shaping out to be a fairly good morning indeed.

* * *

Simon bumped into William on his way down to the caf-literally-and the red-headed boy welcomed him with a brilliant smile.

"Hullo there, Simon. Ready for today?" The sunlight caught on a golden badge pinned to William's cotton shirt, and the glare blinded Simon temporarily.

Blinking quite a few times to try and see straight, Simon asked, "What is today, exactly?"

The red-head placed pale hands on his hips, and stared at Simon. "You aren't being sarcastic, right?"

Simon blinked once, twice, then shook his head. "Bloody hell!" William threw his hands up into the air. "It's supply day. All the First Years are escorted to the town by Watford, in order to get things like wands, and such. After your first year, you're able to head down to the village in order to shop and such." William tapped the shiny badge with a glossed nail. Simon hadn't noticed William's rather...effeminate appearance until then, but the boy shrugged it off. "I'm the Head Boy this year, along with Cecilia Tristan, the Head Girl. We'll be escorting the First Years down along with the other Prefects."

"Huh."

William ruffled Simon's hair fondly, and loped past the younger boy, into the hall with ease. "I'll see you around then, Simon. Don't be a stranger!"

"Alright?" He called after William, blinking in confusion, then left for breakfast.

* * *

Breakfast had been as eventful as last night. People argued across the tables, older student cursed as they looked at their schedules, and Simon caught a few of the younger students attempting to plug their ears as they ate.

But the sun was as bright-and as hot-as it had been yesterday, and the ten-year old could barely hold back the groan that built in the back of his throat. Brushing the golden mop he called hair out of his eyes, Simon squinted in the harsh sunlight, as he followed the rest of the first-years out into the town.

In front of him, two brunet boys were slamming shoulders, bickering loudly. The gaggle of girls in front beside the duo looked on disapprovingly, and one leaned in to whisper to the blonde one next to her.

Simon had to admit, the blonde girl was really, really pretty. But he also didn't want to touch her because girls had cooties. Letting out the groan, Simon tilted his head back, the sun hitting him dead in the eyes. He was tired. His classmates were kind of loud, and worst of all, there was a person constantly poking him in the back! Turning around to face the offender, Simon snapped, "Hey, can you please stop poking me?"

Baz blinked, then smirked devilishly at him. "Sorry, Snow," he drawled, throwing his dark hair out of his eyes. "I never would have guessed it was you, what with your idiotic hair and all." Sarcasm dripped off of his words, and unconsciously, Simon ran his fingers through his hair, slightly offended. He rather liked his hair.

"Stop poking me."

The raven smirked again, which irked Simon to no end. "Stop smirking at me!" Simon scowled at Baz, generally annoyed now.

"Well, now that I know that you're that irritated when I smirk," Baz smirked, "I don't fancy stopping anytime soon."

Simon threw his hands up into the air, and stormed off to find another place to stand in line. What a jerk, the ten-year old fumed, kicking the pebbles in the road. _He's a bloody jerk. Why do I have to room with him? Can't some other poor sucker be stuck with him?_

Looking up from his brooding, the small boy saw the village coming into view. William's shiny golden badge caught his eye again, and the teen himself smiled at Simon. _'We're here.'_ He mouthed, grinning sunnily.

Simon thought he would jump for joy.

* * *

**author's notice two: has my english gotten better? i really hope so! but damn, so short. *cries* **

**but but but i started to write a pokemon story. if you like pokemon, please read it?**

**also thank you for reviews! you are all so nice to me, haha! **

**bye bye, jae-ha**


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